When you'll be asked suddenly
How you have been doing lately
Once in a while
You might get a hard time
Cuz that question is tough to reply
If you swear not to lie
You might feel like
All the magic died
You'll stare into empty space
As if nothing will ever make your heart race
Kinda similar to rereading all your tragedies
Kinda like asking yourself if you're really happy
Everyone will be standing near but none will see
Tears being shed silently
From the corner of your eyes
Mocking you each time you try
Your heart will successfully betray your self control
You'll tell yourself you're not lonely, you're just alone
Every 'I'm fine" will instantly be proven as a lie
Failing all of your artificial smiles
Maybe that's how it's like
When a heart gets broken too many times
To say everything is alright
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
ПоэзияPetrichor (/ˈpɛtrɪkɔːr/) is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek petra (πέτρα), "rock", or petros (πέτρος), "stone", and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythol...
